No Fundamental Excuse
by Vain Girl
Summary: A mild au, assume that Fallen Heroes happened as filmed but ended the moment Bayliss got shot. Both Kellerman and Pembleton are still on the force. Sequel to The Trick is to Keep Breathing.


I don't own them, obviously.

This is the sequel to The Trick is To Keep Breathing. All you really need to know is that this is a mild au, assume that _Fallen Heroes_ happened as filmed but ended the moment Bayliss got shot. Both Kellerman and Pembleton are still on the force.

No Fundamental Excuse

Lewis and Kellerman were standing beside a crib with a tiny, rapidly cooling body in it while the sun rose over Baltimore. The mother was a plump, thick-featured girl of no more than twenty with the faintest hint of the islands in her wail.

"I don't understand! I fed her, I change her diapers, I come when she cry... what happened, I don't understand?"

Lewis shrugged, careful not looking at the infant or its mother. "Sometimes things happen. Ain't nothing no one can do about it."

"But I don't understand!" The wail thickened as tears began to fall down her reddened face. Lewis turned away uncomfortably. Kellerman touched her gently on the shoulder, silent comfort for the unthinkable.

"I am so sorry," he told her quietly and sincerely. She took one look into clear blue eyes that seemed to grieve with her before collapsing against his shoulder; her heavy body racked with futile sobs. She clung to him while the ME took the body and only when it was gone and she had nothing left but and empty cradle and a lifetime of blame did she release him to the paperwork that went with the crib death.

By the time an actual homicide got called in around mid afternoon the paper work was all filed and awaiting only the ME's ruling that the death of little Isabel Monroe was in fact caused by SIDS and not something more sinister.

* * *

The body seemed to have shrunk in on itself, not that an undernourished teenager normally got that big to begin with.

Kellerman stared at blankly for nearly a minute with Lewis reluctant to pull him out of the haze. Then he shrugged suddenly and seemed to shake it off. "So who was first on the scene?"

"I was, Kellerman." A tall, dark haired young woman stepped forward.

Lewis swallowed heavily at the sight of her. "Officer Riley."

"Detective Lewis," she acknowledged, without looking at him.

"Susie--"

"Not now, Lewis," she said quietly.

"So what do we have here, Riley?" Kellerman asked, blatantly ignoring any subtle or not so subtle interplay between the lady in blue and his partner.

"Our boy here was capped twice in the back. I'm no ME, but I'd say that could be the cause of death."

"That's funny. ID?"

"None on her. But we caught a friendly citizen who wants to do his civic duty hanging around the corpse. His name is Aaron, he called it in," Riley gestured to a nervous looking kid in old jeans and a filthy tee shirt, who looked as though he'd rather be just about anywhere else. "He tells us that the kid's name was Jamie. She was a street kid mostly, before she got into turning tricks. Aaron thinks she's a runaway." Kellerman nodded and scribbled it down in his pad.

"Aaron was here when you showed up?"

"Yeah. He says he saw Jamie go into the alley with a john and then heard gunshots. Nobody else saw a damn thing."

"Course they didn't. Sometimes I think this whole damn neighborhood ought to be banging on the eye doctor's door," Kellerman muttered darkly.

Riley shrugged. "I've heard worse plans."

"Well, you wanna help us canvas for the non-existent witnesses to the crime who saw the whole thing from their bedroom windows?" Mike pointed up to the surrounding row houses.

"Anything for you, Kellerman. With that riding next to you, you need all the help you can get." She waved a hand at Lewis and sauntered off toward the nearest row house.

As soon as she was out of sight Mike raised an eyebrow at his partner. "Damn. You and she must have really had something going."

"I don't wanna talk about it," Lewis muttered.

"Riley?" Mike whispered in mock syrupy tones, "Oh, Riley!"

"Shut the fuck up, Mikey!" Lewis spat, ignoring his partner in favor of the corpse lying face down in the dirt.

"You went out with her, didn't you?"

"You don't have the first clue what you talking about, man."

"Come on. I'm your partner, you can tell me about it," Mike wheedled. The words almost made Lewis flinch but he covered it well.

"Do you want me to come over there and hit you, man? You forgetting I'm still a married man."

"Separated. And you and Stivers seemed to get around that just fine two years ago."

"Just cause you a dog, Mikey, don't mean I got no respect for the fairer sex."

"Yeah? Since when?" Mike snickered. Meldrick just shook his head.

"It ain't no use talking to you at all is it?" Lewis sighed. Mike grinned at him innocently. Lewis felt a moment's relief, deciding the whole conversation was nothing more than Mike's old teasing. He grinned back, shaking his head. "Come on, Mikey, we got ourselves a murder to solve."

They both turned back to the kid the uniform was hanging onto. No more than fifteen, ragged hair and thin frame trembling under his dirty clothes. "Did Jamie have any enemies?" Mike asked, not unkindly.

"Nah, she didn't do nothing to nobody. She was cool, man. Not into hard drugs or any of that shit. Marty wouldn't let her."

"Marty?"

"Jones Marty. Marty was Jamie's man, you know?"

"Her pimp?" Mike raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Did Marty and Jamie get along?"

"They did okay. I dunno."

"Could you tell us exactly what happened to Jamie? Any detail could help."

The boy rocked back on his heels, considering. He glanced from the corpse to the detectives and finally shrugged. "She went into the alley with a john, like I said. I heard shots. She and I we spent some time together, you know?" He shrunk into himself, a little self-consciously. "I ran in to see what happened. She was on the ground bleeding... there was a man... he was running."

"The john?"

"I guess. I only saw his back, ya know? He had on a black leather jacket. Expensive. That one!" The kid pointed excitedly to a CSU officer walking toward the detectives carrying a black leather jacket.

The man came up to Mike. "We found this in a Dumpster about ten feet down. Do you think it's important?"

Lewis looked at the jacket blankly for a second, before bursting into a wide grin. "Smell it. What does this say to you?" Mike shrugged and sniffed at the jacket. His eyes widened.

"New leather. This thing's brand new."

"Quality shit too. Can't be too many stores in town that carry something like this."

Mike inspected the jacket and then smiled delightedly. "Only one store. Take a look, this thing still has the tag on it."

"Damn. Today is our lucky day after all."

"Can I go now?" Aaron, momentarily forgotten, tugged on Mike's sleeve.

"Anything else you can think of? Anything at all?"

The kid shrugged. "I'd really like to go. Can I?"

Mike sighed. "Sure. If you think of anything else, give us a call."

"Yeah, man. I'll do that." The kid grinned in relief, which quickly dissipated when the uniform started asking him his name and home address. Lewis and Kellerman were already walking away.

" Do you wanna say goodbye to your girlfriend before we go?" Mike asked cheerfully.

"You really don't know when to quit, do you?"

"Who, me?" Mike grinned. Lewis gave him a friendly whack, which he ducked easily. They raced each other to the driver's seat. Kellerman won, but it didn't do him any good since Lewis had the keys and wasn't giving them up.

* * *

The girl behind the counter nodded at the jacket. "Yup. Sold it this two days ago. Mid life crisis." 

"What do you mean?" Mike asked.

"Some balding guy in a suit with a wedding band comes in and buys a thousand bucks worth of leather, I call that like I see it, man."

"Are you sure it was this jacket?"

"Yeah, had to be. Look," She lifted up a chain with a deep scratch in it. "The guy complained about the scratch for almost half an hour. I ended up giving him ten percent off just to get rid of the asshole."

"You don't happen to know who the guy was, do you?"

"Well, he paid with his visa. If I give you the receipt would you leave? I got customers to look after, ya know."

"Sure, no problem, lady," Mike dimpled at her. She looked him up and down and smiled back, her bad mood suddenly evaporating.

"Hey, you can stay. Got a discount for cops. Especially if they're willing to use those handcuffs." Mike's expression didn't change under her frank gaze, but the shop was too dim to tell if he was blushing.

"That's quite a offer, but I'm on the clock."

"Another time? My name's Andrea. I'm off after midnight."

"You bet, Andrea." He flashed another grin at her and let Lewis tug him out of the store. Andrea waved after him before turning back to a guy with more fluorescent colors in his hair than you could find on the Vegas strip.

"You do know this is a job, not your own personal dating pool?" Lewis asked cheerfully when they were safely back in the Caviler.

"And you're just jealous because the lady preferred me."

"The lady had more metal in her ears then it takes to build a glock. And then there was her nose. Do people really need more holes in their nose than they got?"

Kellerman just laughed at him.

* * *

The credit card led them straight to an address in Federal Hill. The knock on the door was answered by a middle-aged woman in perfectly tailored slacks. She smiled at them politely. 

"Can I help you?"

"Are you Mrs. Cranston?"

"Yes, that's right. Who--"

"I'm Detective Kellerman and this is Detective Lewis. We're with the Baltimore City Police department. Is your husband in?"

"Ralph's upstairs."

"Well could you get him, ma'am?"

"Why? Is something wrong?" she asked nervously.

"He's a possible witness to a crime and we'd like to speak with him."

She nodded and called her husband downstairs. Ralph Cranston was as described. A middle aged, balding man with the vague aura of terror that clings to a person who has realized he isn't getting any younger.

"What can I do for you gentleman?"

"Can you tell us where you were this morning, around three?"

"I was... why here in bed. Where should I be at that hour?"

"That's interesting, sir. We found your jacket in a Dumpster less than twenty feet from the scene. A witness saw someone wearing it fleeing."

"Jacket? I bought a leather jacket yesterday morning, but it was stolen. I paid nearly a grand for the thing, so you can imagine I wasn't happy. Are you telling me someone committed a crime wearing that?"

Lewis and Kellerman exchanged glances. "Would you mind coming to the station with us Mr. Cranston? Getting a few fingerprints would clear this whole mess right up."

"I certainly do mind. My wife and I have plans."

"Mr. Cranston..."

"I think you gentlemen should speak to my attorney. You know where the door is. Good day."

"We have a witness, Mr. Cranston. Even if you didn't do a thing getting caught with a male prostitute ought to really help your reputation with your golf buddies."

The man swallowed abruptly and glanced back into the house after his wife. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Like my partner here was saying, a couple of prints would show you weren't anywhere near the scene."

"You honestly think I killed that whore?"

"Killed? Who said anything about anybody killing or getting killed?"

"I-- you--" Cranston turned an impossible shade of red. "It isn't what you think, I swear!"

"Why don't you come down town with us, sir?" Lewis asked gently. "You can tell us all about it."

Kellerman slid the Miranda waiver safely away and treated his subject to a long eye fuck, enjoying the man's fidgeting.

"So you're admitting you were there, Mr. Cranston?" he asked after the tension had reached a breaking point.

"I was there." He stared down at his feet. "I wanted something different..."

"Different?" Lewis asked, sounding mildly curious. "I guess shooting a teenage girl after she blows you is kinda different."

"What? No, I said I didn't shoot her!"

"There's a gun registered in your name. We're running tests on the bullets recovered from the scene. Wanna bet they match?"

"No, that's wrong. I didn't--"

Kellerman intervened, his voice suddenly soothing. "We understand that Mr. Cranston. Why don't you tell what happened? But remember, if you lie to us there's nothing we can do for you."

Cranston cracked his knuckles nervously and stared from Lewis to Kellerman. "He'll kill me if I tell you. He had-- that man--" he shivered.

"We can protect you, sir. If there's something we need to know you should tell us now. You don't want this girl's murder landing on you," Mike said.

"Rich white man like you, up at Jesseup or Hagerstown. That would be something to see." Lewis laughed harshly.

"The girl, she um, she called him Marty." Kellerman raised an eyebrow at Lewis but Cranston missed the silent exchange. "He screamed that she'd um, been stealing... or using or I don't remember. And she said, she said, 'Jeez, Marty, can't you see I'm with a customer?'. And his eyes-- he shot her. It was so loud. He shot her and then he looked at me and I thought I was dead too."

"Why ain't you dead? Why did this big, bad pimp let you live?"

"I don't know. He looked at me and at her. He walked away. And I ran."

"You didn't report this to the police? You just ran away?" Kellerman asked in mock disappointment.

"I ran. My wife, she..."

"I'm sure she is. We're gonna want you to look at some pictures and pick out the man who shot Jamie. Could you do that for us?"

"Jamie? Was that her name?" Cranston muttered.

* * *

After Cranston identified him, they had an APB but out for one Emanuel Martins, AKA Jones Marty. But the man had gone to ground and after a few hours with no sign of him the two detectives ended a twelve-hour shift and wandered over to the haven of cool air and watery beer that was the Waterfront. 

They had settled into a routine of knocking back a few after work like they had in the old days. Before Mahoney. Lewis pretended that Kellerman wasn't drinking that much more than he had back then and in return Kellerman waited until Lewis knocked off for the night to really go on a bender. It was an amazingly useful blindness. And from the way Kellerman grew progressively less hungover come mornings the clever fiction was becoming truer as the weeks passed. Either that or Mike had finally learned to hold his liquor.

Just as Lewis was about to head home to his newly empty apartment, Kellerman tugged a cigarette out of his pocket. As far as Lewis knew, he hadn't smoked one since Bayliss' prone body had been rushed into an ambulance. Mike stared at it blankly, as if he wasn't really sure what it was. Then he shook himself out of whatever stupor he was in, lit it, and stuck it between his lips.

Lewis deliberately walked passed him on his way out. He stopped and pulled the cigarette out of Kellerman's mouth before his partner had a moment to react.

"Hey!" Mike cried out. "What the hell was that for?"

"These damn things are getting on my nerves, that's what it for. You wanna give me lung cancer with all your second hand smoke, Mikey?"

"Because you ain't gonna get it from this damn bar, huh? You don't just knock a damn cigarette out of somebody's mouth for God's sakes! What the fuck is wrong with you, Lewis?"

"Nothing wrong with me. Anyway, you're quitting those things, remember? They gonna kill you," Lewis said quietly.

"If I wanna kill me, that's my business."

"No it isn't. It's everybody who cares about you's business, too. Don't you forget it." Lewis tossed the cigarette onto an ashtray and deliberately ground it into oblivion, not taking his eyes off his partner's. Mike's eyes burned with an angry blue fire but he didn't move to intervene.

"I haven't forgotten just how much you care, man. Not for one second," he spat.

"Mikey--"

"Meldrick, just because you'd rather work with me than Falsone doesn't make us best friends again. Hell, we were never best friends."

"Weren't we?" Lewis asked quietly.

"No. There's more to it than what we got and if you don't know that, maybe you fucking well should," Mike cried, jumping to his feet.

"That's really deep. Thank you, Detective Philosopher."

Kellerman leaned up into his partner's face, every muscle speaking of barely restrained fury. "What, you gotta make fun of me now? I hate to break it to you, Meldrick, but you ain't my mother, and you sure as hell ain't my fucking older brother."

Lewis swallowed and looked away. "I never said--"

"You never said what? What the fuck did you say, man, what did you ever say?"

"What the hell are you so mad at me for? You the one who wanted to quit smoking."

"Fuck you, Lewis."

"Listen to me, I just want to know you're going to be okay."

Mike began to spit out a retort, but was stopped by the pained look on his partner's face. "Well relax. I'm fine."

"I wanna believe that," Lewis whispered. Mike rocked back on his heels and then sat back down.

"Well, how about this, I'm as fine as anyone with blood on his hands gets."

"You ain't the only one with blood there, Mikey."

"I pulled the trigger. That's enough for Stivers. It used to be enough for you."

"If you believe that, you're an idiot."

"So now I'm an idiot. Thanks, Lewis, now stop sugarcoating and tell me what you really think of me."

"This ain't funny."

"That's why you don't see me laughing."

"I thought... I thought we'd been through this shit already. You said you weren't mad about Mahoney."

"I'm not mad about that. Don't touch my fucking cigarettes."

"Fine. Go out and kill yourself. See if I fucking care."

"I thought I wasn't mad, okay. But you were right before, about this partnership. This has to be about the job. The other stuff might work for Bayliss and Pembleton, but that ain't what we're about."

"You're wrong."

"You know what you are? You're a lazy son of a bitch, Lewis."

"Mike--"

"You know what else? I don't have time for this." Kellerman nodded to himself.

"Why, you actually got somewhere to go?" Lewis smirked.

"As a matter of fact, yeah. I got a date."

"Them inflatable women just not doing it for you anymore?"

"Very funny."

"Who is this girl? You really going out with that crazy tattooed leather girl?"

"Her name's Andrea. She says fun is her god." Mike's expression softened into real amusement.

"Yeah, I'll bet. Don't try taking her to a museum or nothin cause there ain't no way she's getting past the metal detectors," Lewis muttered, relaxing.

"Museum? Why the fuck would I take a date to a museum?" Kellerman sneered.

"You too much of a red blooded American boy for that kinda thing?"

"Hell yeah. Besides, Andrea only likes body art."

Lewis stared at him blankly and then said the only thing he could think of, "Get the fuck out of here, Mikey."

* * *

Mike showed up late the next morning, with bruises on his wrists and a huge, shit eating grin on his face. 

"Looks like Andrea showed you a good time, eh?" Lewis tossed the football to Mike, who caught it easily.

"You better believe she did. That is some woman."

"Yeah. Looks like she is that. You wanna know what you missed, coming in late, partner?"

"Was it is good as what I got?"

"Better. I just about went and solved your case for you, partner. The boys in blue picked up our friend Marty."

"No shit!? Why the fuck didn't you beep me?"

"I didn't want to interrupt your recreational activities. But it gets better. He admitted he was on the scene."

"What?"

"He told the arresting officer he was on the scene and that Jaime's john went nuts and shot her. He says she was dead before he could do a damn thing for her."

Mike smirked. "So who do we believe, my friend, the pimp or the tax lawyer?"

The two detectives sauntered into the box in unison. When left alone, Jones Marty had lain his head on the table and fallen promptly asleep. Kellerman rubbed his hands together gleefully.

He strode over until he was right by the suspect's ears. "Hey, Marty, wake up!" he yelled. Stifling the pure amusement he got when the yo nearly jumped out of his skin.

"What the fuck you gotta do that for?" Marty demanded, rubbing at his aching ear.

"You have any idea how much trouble you're in? You murdered a teenage girl, you sick fuck."

"I didn't. I told the other guy, didn't he tell you? I told him that john a her's done her. I would never have hurt that girl."

"But you let her peddle her ass on a street corner to keep you in rent money, huh? Yeah, you're a real gentleman, Marty."

"I was good to her. Kept her away from drugs and shit. I ain't never hurt her."

Kellerman nodded. "Real good. Do you own a gun, Marty?"

The man shrugged. "Gotta have protection."

"And where is that gun now?"

"Someone borrowed it, and they ain't returned it yet."

"They ain't returned it yet?" Kellerman laughed. "They ain't returned it? I'm supposed to belive this you lying sack of shit?"

"It's the truth!" Marty wailed.

"Sure might be, man," Lewis shifted in his seat. "But you see, that john, he's a tax lawyer. A more or less upstanding citizen. And if we're gonna take your word over his, well, you gotta give us something to go on."

"I ain't never hurt that girl! I ain't never beat her or nothing!" Marty almost jumped up, visbly upset, but Kellerman shoved him in his seat.

"Sit down, you murdering piece of crap," he said, matter of factly.

"Did she steal from you, Marty? Is that what it is? You so good to her and then she was an ungrateful bitch," Lewis said.

"No!"

"Where's the gun, Marty? Why don't you tell me where the gun is?" Kellerman jumped in.

"Don't know nothing about no gun."

"But you said you had a gun. I don't know, Lewis, do you remember him saying he had a gun." Mike turned toward his partner.

"An unregistered weapon, too. I think I did hear that, Kellerman."

"Well if you heard it, and I heard it--"

"I didn't kill Jaime. Ain't you hearing a word I say? It was that other guy!"

"You know, I wonder how many of the mokes up at Jesseup had their crime committed by another guy?" Lewis shook his head sadly.

"Too many. Damn, our justice system must not be all it's cracked up to be if we can't catch that other guy," Kellerman agreed mournfully.

"Why won't you listen to me?"

"I'm listening, Marty," Lewis said. "We got your prints on the scene. Even your lying mouth admits you was there. The girl was one of your stable, and a more or less respectable witness is saying you killed her. You got a gun. Now start telling the truth, before you make this any worse for your sorry self than it already is."

"I didn't kill--"

* * *

It was a long torturous couple of hours. 

Kellerman finished typing his report with a sigh of relief. Danvers had agreed that there was enough circumstantial evidence to charge the pimp. He just looked like a better suspect to a jury than a tax lawyer with no possible motive for killing her. Mike wasn't happy about the was the case had gone down, but it was out of his hair and he wouldn't have to think about it until it went to trial. If the damn thing even went to trial.

The thing with Cranston had never ironed itself out to his satisfaction, but the way things stood Danvers didn't believe they had a hope in hell with a grand jury, much less a trial. Mike made mental plans to make sure that at least the Mrs. wouldn't be left in the dark.

He almost didn't notice when Lewis walked up to his desk and dropped something on it.

"What the fuck is this?" he demanded when he saw an address scribbled hastily on notepaper. "We're off in an hour."

"Don't worry about it. Munch and Stivers took the call, I just thought you'd wanna know."

"Know what? What is this, some kind of practical joke?"

"Kareen Monroe from a couple of days ago ate her gun."

"The one with the SIDS baby? You're kidding."

"Nah. She paid for the kid's funeral, went home, and offed herself."

Mike shuddered. "Poor lady."

"Could you tell?" Lewis asked, an urgent look in his dark eyes.

"Huh?"

"You couldn't tell from talking to her the other day that she was gonna do it, could you?"

Kellerman stared at his partner in confusion. "How the hell are you supposed to tell something like that just by looking at someone?"

Lewis shrugged, but looked visibly more at ease. "Never mind. Just curious."

"Whatever."

"And, Mikey, I'm sorry about your cigarettes."

"What was that?"

"You heard me."

"Did the word 'sorry' actually leave your mouth, or am I hearing things?" Mike asked gleefully.

"You hearing things. Better talk to the department shrink."

"That's what I thought. Fuck the cigarettes. I'm quitting."

"Sure you are, man. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Maybe we can get a little black under your name for a change."

* * *

Epilogue 

It was late, but the Waterfront actually had customers from outside the homicide unit for once when Lewis finally showed up to relieve Billy Lou at the end of her shift.

Kellerman was at his usual spot at the end of the bar, a shot of Wild Turkey easily within his reach and a morose expression on his face.

"Hey, hey, hey. What is your narrow behind doing in this establishment on a Saturday night, Mikey? I thought you and tattoo girl had a date."

"That bitch?" Mike spat. "Like I'd ever get near her again without a ten foot pole."

Lewis laughed out loud. "I ain't saying I told ya so."

"What do you mean you ain't? You just did." Mike sneered.

"And I was right too. Have another round, man, on the house. You look like you need one." Lewis poured him a shot. Mike stared at it blankly but didn't reach for it.

"So... you know Bayliss is starting back next week. Desk duty anyway," Lewis broke the sudden silence.

"I heard. I'm still waiting for Pembleton to break out a special padded chair or something."

Lewis snickered. "Frank the mother hen. That'd be something to see."

"Never happen, of course." Mike reached into his pocket and pulled out a stick of chewing gum.

"Nah. You chewing gum again?" Lewis remarked, rather obviously.

"Better for you than smoking."

"It is that. Can I ask you something, man?" Lewis asked tentatively. Mike nodded his assent. "You and me, we okay?"

"Yeah, we're cool."

"Well, that's good to know."

"It is, isn't it?" Kellerman dimpled and stretched in his chair, looking unnaturally self-satisfied.


End file.
